Crusade

by RainbowThrasher

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Sad, Dark
Length: 2987

A day in the later life of the CMC

It was the greatest of starts to a day…
But even with the best of intentions, things do not always plan out the way you want them to.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-04-11 23:20:02 UTC

The CMC

It was the coldest start to the warmest of days.

The hour hand scraped across the lone clock face. Minutes ticked away, the smaller hand scratched around the same lonely face. The schoolhouse stood a picture of sober innocence. It was once a mill but had since been converted. The little pitter patter on the virgin soil sounded the arrival of the frequenters of the fine school. Young faces scrunched to the light as they crawled from another lazy spring break. A diverse bunch of fillies and of colts then braved the brand new day, they wondered so free to the wake of the schoolhouse where the lone clock hand struck a dull ominous tone.

All of a sudden the fillies and colts paraded into the warm welcoming doors to the schoolhouse. They trotted because they feared the tardy first day blues, the bell had rung and so the school day ensued.

The hallways sparkled, the tiles gleamed, and even the walls were smooth to the feel all painstakingly brushed clean. They were organised by how high they stood; their size. They sort into different doors darted along the longest of the hallways to where register was called. A mare, delighted and erudite, rolled down the blinds and allowed in some light. Each little rump landed down with a bump on the gum free classroom seats. And under each desk there was a detail a stamp, what destinies awaited the youthful mites as they shift their flanks. Only three little cherubs of the room fought to hide their shame. They pushed their chairs in all as one, for some unity they shared.

A sneer carried over the shoulder of a grey young mare, a bun in her hair. She teased the three so mercilessly with her friend whom she talked to most. The friend of hers turned and she backed up the vile decree. Their attention was aimed at a small and sheepish filly; the filly in question was not opposed to all things frilly. Her name resembled blessed tasty delights as well as what tolled to begin the day. Her coat was pearl and her mane was a two tier blending of pink and blue. She fashioned it to hang in coils and curls to please her elder sis. She was not earth pony nor was she Pegasus. The pearl white face of the unicorn filly played host to one sad tear. She often let the other two win, one of them the grey mare, she wished them to disappear. She sat alone in a lonely corner of the school set, the theatre of leaning mainly left her upset.

Her comrade whispered forth a nicety to make her feel well again. A wiry orange hoof bridged the gap between the desks. This friend of hers could not hide her behest, but she held her tongue, they were oh so young. She played with the spiky comb of her mane, listening intently. Names stated tallying off of the list that lay in the teacher’s hoof. Each corresponding youth gave a wave of a hoof or a verbal cue. The orange filly daydreamed hopelessly in the idiocy of the world around her. She had wings yet to develop, she was unable to fly. But don’t think them naïve, they were wise, they knew their way. It was comfort that so many colours painted the coats of the other youths that day. The orange mare was a soul daring, a mind that would change the status quo. She had dirty laundry that wanted airing, to topple the bitching mares so uncaring. She holds her tongue and bites it too. These were the thoughts of Scootaloo.

Rumination was not uncommon in the school so bright with ferns and blossoms. The pale green filly tucked in her legs, she was scared. Not long had it been since she had been impaired. The bitching pair spun such wicked lies that dared to cut the sacred ties. The first of her names was that of a fruit, a flower inspired her second, but it would never suit. AppleBloom looked back with hopeful desire to her two friends. The bullies should’ve been caught, they must’ve been seen. But when the teacher checked around they acted like they were a Godsend. Contempt grew between the vague cliques but not to a teacher would anypony speak.

Applebloom, Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle too, they waited, they watched the hands slow down upon the face of the clock. The peachy complexion of the mare who taught math was losing its sheen as the day went on. She hoofed out little ditties, they were tests, and they were lame. Each friend had not copied but the results were all the same. The proud teacher called them all to the front, to face the grey mare and her friend; the cunt. Examples were made as she conducted her dunce parade. But nothing oh nothing would ruin that day.

“Not just blank flanks, blank brains!”

More smut had erupted from the muzzle of the slob; she made the three friends look smaller than the tiniest of mouse. She breathily muttered something nasty and it started to pass around. The teacher paid no head to the row and made the three sit back down. Not one of the three was offered the benefit of the doubt, they were asked, neigh ordered, to clear their desks out. They presented the contents of their dusty desk space to the angel faces of the others in the class.

Sweetie Belle had a fine mane brush, and a few sweets from Applebloom, all a mush. She also had a portrait of her highly publicised sister and near the frame was an autograph too. The flair in the stencilling was quite hard to dismiss, so too was the perfume fragrance that lay in a mist. She was given no warning, no not one subtle hint. For inside her desk draw something still glinted. A silver jewelled chain thought not with Sweetie’s name. No the necklace belonged to the cunt who sneered again.

The crown had no place but her forelock and pole, she wore it all the time even at the swimming pool. She sported a bright pink coat, so pressed and so clear. She would rarely let anypony near. She propped her tiara back in between her plucked ears and screamed in protest. She is appalled by the sight of her new birthday delight; her father buys her off if only for one more night. She rushed at the blackboard and tackled Sweetie Belle. She snatched the silvery chain and walks back again to her seat at the middle of the room. The youngest of three was sent from the dorm, she is offered nothing by the ponies she passes but indifference and scorn. She opened the door and walked into the longest hallway before quickly, so quickly, she trotted away.

The one who had dreamed is next on the hot seat. She held out her items for the student body to see. Scootaloo possessed a small stuffed teddy bear with a fez on its head. She also had some energy snacks, most likely proteins bars. She creased her mouth as the ponies did laugh, what mare of her age would be caught dead with such gaff? A mare at her desk, she is named after a kitchen utensil; pawed a hoof under the adjacent desk and plucked something out. Scootaloo turned an iridescent mauve as more of the mares and colts all around teased and made her sink into the ground. She bites her tongue still, no nothing had she to say. She retreated under the teacher’s desk and hid herself away. For under the lid of her desk dwelled a plush imitation of one Rainbow Dash.

“I have nothing” the final of the three admitted to the doting public. The class could see the emptiness of Applebloom’s hooves; they muffled their glee and spoke not a word. But the filly is afraid, she is bullied so harsh, she went for her seat and heard louder their laughs. She proceeded back to the front and broke down in tears. Though they made not a sound, the class judged the pale filly with their easily read eyes, which offer not semblance, not a glimmer of surprise. They convulsed in laughter until the filly returned to her seat.

Cherilee discussed something on-topic with the class still open to her lecture. The three filly friends were separated and each had a crux to their character. Scoots’ was weak to the tail and cheek of the super-fast talent on the telly each week. She wanted so much, for maybe just a touch, of the multifaceted threads of her idol’s rainbow locks. The earth filly felt the weight of poverty so hard. She had been eating tiny morsels for lunch yet no one fluttered an eye. No pony cared any more except for Fluttershy. Sweetie Belle would claim that she did not steel the chain, but her mettle is rattled by the allegations. For though she hid it well, nopony had a clue, she was a closet kleptomaniac in truth. Now the obsessed dare devil cowered beneath the grain of the desk. The neurotic something was waiting in the office. The poorest of ponies tried to look nonchalant as she nodded her head in despair at the nook of her desk.

The waiting room was quiet, eraser smoke dusted all around. An anxious pearl filly waited unwilling on the uncomfortable bench. She sighed deeply, making no effort to make eye contact with the principal who straightened papers beyond the concertina blinds. Sweetie kicked her legs back and forth under the bench as minute after minute ticked by. Eventually the principal, belated as usual, abandoned her task and fetched Sweetie Belle. The remorseful filly followed the principal into the room she had seen past the fancy blinds. She sat facing the oak bureau where sat the mare principal who pointlessly tapped the ends of some files on the table top.

She looked down into her mug of coffee before she cleared her throat. “Now Miss Belle… You do understand the seriousness of stealing” the principal gesticulated to the mournful filly. Sweetie avoided the disapproving glare of the principal. “Sometimes I just can’t help it” she explained as she brushed a hoof through her mane. A small marquee propped up on the desk read ‘Dr Francis Day’. The title was not purchased, the certified doctor or law run that school like clockwork. “So you accept this is an illness? You accept you need help?” Day sympathised with the pupil. Sweetie shuffled her chair closer to the bureau and submitted her head down. “I don’t want your stinking intervention. Now keep this” she began, she flicked a hoof at the principal’s nose.

“Out, of my business”

Dr Day sucked in a load of air as she came to terms with the insult. She slowly shook her head and reached for the phone. “Do I need to call your sister again?” she asked, she dialled a few numbers.

“Don’t bother. You’ll only get the answering machine” Sweetie answered as she glanced back toward the waiting room. “I’m only trying to do what is best…” she said, her silken mane frayed to the point of disrepair.

“Then by all means be my guest” Sweetie conceded, her hooves fold into her crotch. The principal dialled the remaining numbers on the interface before picking up the receiver and waiting.

“I told you. She will be less than cooperative” Sweetie Reinforced her previous argument.

“Just hold off a moment, it’s ringing…” She hushed the school mare.

They both sit in silence until a rich operatic tone buzzed in the receiver. Day hoofed the phone to Sweetie Belle before returning her hooves to her sides.

“Oh yes hello? What is it this time Squeaky Belle?” Rarity sung across the ether.

“It’s swee…” She almost shouted down the phone. “Never mind, it’s about th…”

“Oh don’t tell me, the stealing nonsense again? Shouldn’t this be something mummy deals with?”

“She cares less than you, her and her toy colt are off on a second honeymoon” Sweetie spat back at her sister before she leaned over the desk and planted the phone back where it lived.

“It’s a terrible business, all that fighting between siblings. Did she say anything helpful?”

“She’s not coming if that’s what you’re asking. And no” Sweetie replied.

The mare principal shifted the filly from her office and sent her back to the class.

Cherilee coaxed for the reclusive Scootaloo to leave her desk retreat. After a few tries Scoots climbed out and returned to her desk. She reached her seat just as Sweetie Belle returned from her embarrassing phone conversation. All three of the friends were back in their seats; they still gazed dreamily at the clock face. More of the day remained that what had passed. For the rest of lesson one the three kept their heads down and tried to slip under the radar.

Applebloom had fallen asleep; she was woken by the heavy thud of encyclopaedias dropping on to her desk. Period bell tolled and the room emptied faster than it had filled at first bell. The three friends stood together in the face of adversity, they had earned the accolade of ‘Cutie Mark Crusaders’.

They headed for the double doors, the doors which lead to the fields and pitches. What waited outside the doors was not a play area; this was not a primary school. Diamond Tiara and Silver spoon slinked away with their beaus, and they had cigarettes pursed in their lips. The student body didn’t play on swings or anything so juvenile. They bled their eyes dry staring in the screens of their smart phones. The scene had changed so much in a few short years; ponies had grown up, matured. The three crusaders marched up the paved forecourt, they passed the gym and they passed the darling smells of the cafeteria. They carried on still, and they walked along till they couldn’t go any further. They were in a small park, a stones’ throw from the school. Scoots fetched a luminescent Frisbee from her satchel and flung it across the emerald dunes. Applebloom galloped to meet the disk, mud kicked up behind her as she ran. She leaped in the air and snapped the disk up in her mouth before she fell back to earth. She threw the disk back with a twist of her neck. Applebloom watched the object flying as if it were unreal; she was in a kind of daze. Scoots rushed to her aide and placed a hoof under Bloom’s ruby bed locks of hair. “You okay there pal? You ate the dirt pretty hard” Scoots exclaimed in concern.

“Everything’s fine, I haven’t been getting enough sleep of late” Applebloom calmed her friend.

Scootaloo returned to Sweetie Belle and put the Frisbee in her hoof. “Safe keeping buddy” She remarked.

“What is wrong with Applebloom?” Sweetie asked.

“Nothing’s wrong. When did I catch this Frisbee? I can’t remember pickin’ it up”

Applebloom pottered up to the other two. “Wha are we even playin’ with the darned thing?”

“Hey what happened to your ribbon?” Sweetie asked, pointing to the uncouth presentation of her friend’s mane.

“It must’ve fallen off” Bloom replied, she smirked at the loss.

“I still think it’s fun bud” Scoots interceded, she didn’t have the Frisbee anymore.

“What is?” Sweetie demanded, growing confused.

“Huh?” Both Bloom and Scoots said in unison.

“The Frisbee right?” Sweetie hinted.

“Oh, yeah, Scoots threw it in the lake” Bloom explained.

“But I saw you… Never mind”

“S’matter Sweetie? You’re acting weirder than usual” Applebloom asked before pointing towards the lake.

“You’ll find what yah need there” Scoots said as Sweetie broke away from the other two.

The others caught up quickly and joined Sweetie Belle at the water’s edge. Sweetie looked down to reach for the floating Frisbee and saw her reflection in the pool.

She looked left and right and rubbed at her eyes.

One…

Two…

Three…

Three ponies stand at the water’s edge.

She gazed back to the murky lagoon and counts but one.

One

She turned away from the water and felt a burning sensation in the frog of her hoof. She rapidly shook the appendage to dull the pain. She eyed her hoof and saw a tightly wound piece of paper with a small segment of cardboard stuffed into one end. She allowed the thing to slide through the hoof before she pinched it at the end. It stank, she flicked it away. She took a brief check over her shoulder; there was no Frisbee in the lake. The unicorn scratched at the mane near her horn, it was greasy. She brought the hoof back and saw some dregs of hair remained in her hoof. Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon were standing nearby. The one, once daddy’s perfect little angle, balanced a foal in one arm and a fag in the other. Her yes-mare was tapping at a nerve on her pastern. A needle was clasped in the other hoof, some droplets of poison leaked from it. The mare sniffed in powerfully as the nectar injected into her vein. Diamond dumped her foal in the buggy and shoved the shadow of Sweetie Belle into the lake. The lake wasn’t that deep. Sweetie sat amongst the reeds and looked up at the mare above her.

“Don’t judge me! Fucking flid” She scoffed.

Sweetie said not a word. She clambered from the maw and feverishly ran her hooves though her mane. She touched a silken item in the dreaded locks and pulled it free.

It was a pink bow.

It was ripped and water damaged.

It was tired and ill looking.

Just like the mare, the last of the Cutie Mark Crusaders.